


I Love You Most When

by imfallingforyoureyes102



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baby Queen, Dad Oliver Queen, Drabble, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Happy times, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Married Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Memories, Mom Felicity Smoak, Oliver loves Felicity, One Shot, Quentin Lance - Freeform, Quick Writes, Stolen Moments, how oliver fell in love with felicity, midnight dancing, moments in time, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:51:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16448492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imfallingforyoureyes102/pseuds/imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: He loves her most in the morning, when the sun is streaming past the peak in the curtains and her head is a mess of tangles and curls. It’s then, when the day still hasn’t set in, that he sees her stripped of everything and anything – then when the walls that she puts up for the rest of the world are battered and shattered and pummeled into the ground.(Or, a culmination of one-shots/drabbles about Oliver and Felicity and the life we hope they get to live, babies, friends, fluff, angst and all).





	1. I Love You Most When

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends, this is my first time venturing over into the Arrow Fanfiction space. I have this same story but with Tris and Tobias, but thought Oliver and Felicity could also mesh into this world very well. Hope you enjoy, please review! Thank youuuuu!!!

Oliver doesn’t know when he falls in love with Felicity.

If anyone asks him, it’s always a matter of furrowed eyebrows and tilted heads that meet their inquisition. He can’t ever answer honestly, and sometimes it pains him – keeps him up until the darkest hours of the night because _how can I not know when I fell in love with light itself?_

But then it hits him, just like it does when she turns suddenly to face him in the park, the setting sun glinting just right through the strands of her hair, or when he runs the tip of his nose down the length of her neck as he pulls her closer to him under the covers and beams of moonlight.

 He can’t pinpoint when he fell in love. He can’t cut out the moment when his heart went from his to hers. He can’t do any of that, not when everyday he falls in love a little more.

He loves her. _God_ , he loves her. And every day his mind and heart crave the radiance she lights within them.

He loves her most in the morning, when the sun is streaming past the peak in the curtains and her head is a mess of tangles and curls. It’s then, when the day still hasn’t set in, that he sees her stripped of everything and anything – then when the walls that she puts up for the rest of the world are battered and shattered and pummeled in the ground.

He always wakes first, and it’s a privilege, he thinks, to get to watch her eyelids flicker and her lips pull into a sleepy smile. There’s nothing more beautiful than her quiet sighs and warm embrace – nothing more precious than her tired _I love you’s._

He loves her most at 7 am, when she leans lazily in the shower, her eyes shut and body languid and flushed from the streaming hot water. She’s not a morning person – Oliver sometimes likes to think she’s rarely even a person on some days – but by God, she is his person. He still strokes the scar on his left thumb from when she threw the alarm clock at him the first and only time he tried waking her up for a run. She’d had a frown on her face the rest of that day, and it was when only Oliver had poked her side and basked in the sound of her giggle did he understand that she was more upset about hurting him than being woken up at some forsaken hour.

He loves her most when she comes home from work, and all she can do is communicate in huffs and sighs. Oliver is normally the one of fewer words, but the thirty minutes at half past six are the minutes that Felicity claims as her own. She’s tired, she’s hungry, and she knows she should have woken up for that run because now she feels fat, but it’s Oliver who is there to slip the heels of her feet and pull her into his arms. It’s Oliver whose chest Felicity breathes into when they lay sprawled on the couch with nothing but the slight hum of the air conditioner sounding in the background.

He loves her most during dinner, when she sits propped on the kitchen counter top chattering away as he hovers over the stove. She can’t cook for shit – they found that out the hard way – but it’s the stolen kisses and brushes against knees and _Felicity, quit eating that, there won’t be anything left_ that builds their nightly tradition.

He loves her most when she pulls him out of a panic attack and chases away the nightmares that have been his anchor since childhood. He can feel her warmth pressed against his body, can feel her fingers combing through his hair. He can hear her small whispers, her breathing, even her heartbeat and it’s in those moments that he finds his anchor in her.

He loves her most under covers, he loves her most on Christmas morning and New Year’s Day. He loves her most at night when quiet whispers of the future, yearnings of little feet and cherub faces, and promises of years to come leave small smiles graced across their lips. He loves her most in the summer, under falling leaves, with glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose and a pen trapped between her teeth. He loves her most on their wedding day, when _her_ heart became his.

He loves her most when he sees her last.

It’s the last day he really loves anything. Diggle tells him she’s gone and she is, he can see it in her pale face and silent heart, but the minute he touches her cheek it all comes back, all the light, all the warmth, all of the midnight dances in the living room and the giggles in front of the fireplace and the wine spilled on his t-shirt and cold feet pressed against warm calves and the strength of her small arms and kisses on his cheek when he vowed to be hers _always, always, always_. His heart is twisting and breaking and shattering into a million pieces and even though she’s the one with the bullet in her chest, he’s the one who’s left to feel its damage.

And then he knows – he knows when he fell in love. He knows it down to the very moment.

_“Felicity Smoak? Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.”_


	2. Little Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver's in love with the little lives he and Felicity have created, but not so in love with the idea that they won't stay little long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, I have an account on fanfiction too that has this same story but with Tobias and Tris. I am slowly finding out that a lot of what I have written for the characters of Tobias and Tris fit well with Oliver and Felicity, so there's that. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, my dudes. Please review!! Love you all!

Little feet. Oliver hears them the same way he breathes, quiet and quick. Always there, never stopping. It comforts him, makes him smile – makes him remember never believing he'd have this, and that's a thought that he always shuts down, quickly and harshly, because his past is nothing compared to now. It's something he never realized would be the most important thing in the world to him.

The pitter patter of tiny toes and tired steps.

They're his own, and Felicity's. They're life and ecstasy, sound and silence; they're the rhythmic beats of his heart and the timing to which he blinks. 

They're his world, and he never wants them to grow any louder, and older. The little feet are all he has, all he needs. 

And it's selfish of him to want, to  _plead_ , for them to stay this tiny. But the way he hears them every morning on the cold hallway floor that he just  _knows_  is way too cold for bare feet, tip-toeing and gliding, fast and urgent, coupled with little squeals and calls of "Daddy" and "Mommy" - the way they sag and drag and thump against the carpet at night, when the world is quiet and the stars poke from behind the blanket of darkness that smothers them – their little feet in an insistent dance, begging to be picked up – arms raised, eyes drowsy, lips pouting.

 _That_  gives him all the reason in the world to keep wishing for time to stand still – for at least one more day, one more second,  _one more anything_. 

His little feet. His little babies. 

And he knows they'll grow up, that one day he won't be needed to tie their shoes or cuddle them close and tight after a nightmare. 

He knows that one day he won't be the main man for his baby girl, that one day his son will be bigger and stronger and brighter than he ever was. Oliver knows that he'll watch them grow, with a bittersweet smile – watch them leave and have families of their own. 

But he'll be  _proud_. He knows that.

Yet that doesn't stop the tightening of his throat, or the fog that swoops down over his eyes seconds before he's forced to clench them shut every time he hears a bell like chime for a laugh, or sees a sweet, toothless smile flashed at him from across the room. 

Or when he hears those damn little feet. 

He can't help it. Because, there once was a time when they couldn't even walk – when all he could feel was the comforting rhythm and sway of a wooden rocking chair and a bundle of warmth cradled to his chest, or the near silent sound of small palms and cloth covered knees brushing against the carpet.

But now they're walking, jumping,  _running_  – little feet stomping against the floor, and jamming little toes against tables, and kicking him in the face with smiles and giggles when he hangs them upside down – and it's then he realizes they're all he wants – them and Felicity – that they're all he really needs.

Because they're  _his_  kids,  _his_ babies,  _his_  little feet.

And he loves them.

_Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please review!! :)


	3. Made of Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver's world is stripped from him and Donna brings him back to reality. (Or the one in which Felicity and their daughter are kidnapped and Oliver is a wreck. Momma Donna makes her debut).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola friends! Hope you enjoy! Sorry for all of the errors, I'm writing these on the go and posting them right away as a sort of goal to write a little bit everyday. With that, it may not be as refined or as thought out/planned as I normally like to write, but I want to be able to just jot down ideas and send them off. 
> 
> Please Review and thanks so much for reading!!!

Diggle finds him first. He’s hidden away in the lair, almost invisible behind the salmon ladder and array of picked apart computer pieces that Felicity always manages to add to every day. He’s just sitting there, back hard and firm against the wall, and for a second Diggle thinks he’s asleep, but then Oliver’s eyes shoot up and all Diggle can see is the red that lines them.

He knows he wants to be left alone – he knows that if Oliver wanted _anything_ right now, it would be to switch places with their favorite blond in the hospital bed.

But he can’t do that, Diggle knows that, as does Oliver. It still sends a crack down his heart when he hears Oliver sniffle, though.

Both heads quickly turn when they hear the snap of heels echoing through the base, and for a second Oliver feels like he can breathe again because _it’s Felicity, it_ has _to be Felicity._

But then it’s Donna’s small hands that are brushing against Oliver’s face – her arms that Oliver collapses into as he finally lets himself fall apart. He doesn’t care that she’s marched right into room that housed the parts of him that were laced in darkness – doesn’t care that the hood that protects his identity night after night is now completely exposed to Donna’s wondering eyes. He doesn’t care about anything – nothing at all – because _they took his baby_.

“Sweetie, listen to me. Oliver, honey - ,”

He can feel her trying to grab a hold of his hand, and it’s then that he looks down and sees the small, pink unicorn mitten crumpled within his fist. His hands start to shake then, but Donna’s grasp is stronger, and she’s able to pull him up and into a chair and it’s in the light that she sees just how much Oliver is falling apart.

“Oliver, baby, we’re gonna find her.” She whispers it, and it sounds so much like Felicity that Oliver can’t help it – _God,_ he can’t help it – and he’s sobbing uncontrollably in the arms of his best girl’s mother.

Any other time, he’d have been in the green hood within seconds, scouring the town for his daughter and seeking revenge on the men that had left his wife beaten so badly she had to be placed in a medically induced coma. _Any_ other time he would have been driving arrows so deep and harsh into every heart that deserved it, _enjoying_ the way the light would slowly leave their eyes.

But Lance had warned him against donning the hood. He had it on good authority that the FBI _would_ interfere the minute he stepped out into the night, but Oliver was far past caring about jailtime because _they took his little girl_

But when he had come from the hospital to the lair earlier that night, his hands had shaken far too much for the arrows to hit their target.

“She’s my _baby_ ,” is the only thing Oliver can choke out, and he repeats it like a mantra again and again– like it’s the only thing left in the world that makes sense – but Donna’s hands brush through his hair the same way Felicity’s do when she pulls him from his worst nightmares and, soon enough, his breathing evens out and his vision clears.

“Felicity - ,”

“Is just fine. She’s going to want her baby at her side when she wakes up, though.”

Oliver can see the insistence in her eyes, and he knows exactly what she’s asking him to do. He squeezes her hand tight, and when he grabs his bow once again, his hands are stone still.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************

He sees her the minute he stalks into the old warehouse and his heart shatters.

_She’s so small, she’s so small, she’s so small._

Oliver knows he only has a few minutes before the FBI shows up, it had taken them hours to track his daughter down, and he swallows back bile when he thinks about how they care more about capturing him than they do about saving his baby.

There’s a man coming at him – three of them now – but all Oliver can see is his baby’s girl’s bright blue eyes, so identical to his own. They’re filled with tears, and there’s a bruise forming just under her left cheek-bone, and even though he’s clad in his leathers and mask she knows exactly who he is. It’s her guttural, sob of “ _Daddy_ ” that makes Oliver see red and want to cry at the same time.

“Close your eyes, baby.”

The words echo through the night just like they did when his mother had sacrifice herself for him and Thea, and the memory of her and his daughter’s small cries and the wedding band that sits firm around his left ring finger give Oliver the fuel he needs to get his child out of there.

There’s blood on him as they are leaving, and he’s careful to hold her against the hip that was spared in his fight. He can hear the FBI vans squealing in – he can hear Diggle in his ear telling him to _move_ – but his stride is powerful and unwavering and time seems to stand still as he stalks slowly past the armed guard.  

The two agents stand with their guns aimed at him, but they lower them when they see the way the small toddler cowers into his hold – when they see how firm his grip is and the way his lips press into her baby soft hair.

It’s a miracle they don’t recognize him for who he really is – especially with the way his daughter continues to cry _daddy_ into his neck – but he doesn’t really care.

He takes her home, he bathes her, he wraps her tight in her favorite pajamas and once more in the hoodie of his that Felicity wears so often her smell is permanently woven into its fabric. He brushes her hair back with his fingers, he presses his lips again and again to her forehead, he tends to the small bruise on her cheek as Lyla medically assesses her.

He holds her tightly against his chest on the way to the hospital, and it’s only Donna that he lets pry her from his grasp so that he can go and give a statement to the police.

She’s back in his arms immediately after, and he doesn’t even have to glare at the reporters that are waiting for his mayoral statement because they can see the way his eyes are stained red and the way his hands tremble as they smooth across his daughter’s blonde hair. They can see the way he presses his face into her hair and the way he takes a shaky breath and they are gone before Lance can even try to kick them out.

Oliver settles into the chair next to Felicity’s bed, their daughter snuggled tight against his chest, but it’s when Felicity’s eyes open and she offers him a tired smile that he can finally breathe again. She’s asleep again in an instant, but her hand his curled around his and that’s all that really matters. Donna sits across from him, smiling fondly at the three of them.

“I thought we were gonna lose them.”

“Not gonna be that easy, Queen. Us Smoaks are made of steel.”

Oliver smiles softly before leaning down and breathing in the scent of his baby.

“I killed those men,” he whispers, a frown settling back over his features.

“You protected your family, Oliver. There was no choice. You protected your family.”

There’s a ghost of an argument on the tip of his tongue, but it’s chased back the minute his daughter starts to snuggle further into him, burying her face into the crook of his neck. He hates that his eyes are watering again – hates that Donna’s seen him cry not once, but twice and in the same day. But the way he feels now with his baby wrapped tight against him and two of the most important people in his world only a few feet away – this is the _best_ part of his life.

And he’ll make damn sure to protect every single thing about it.


	4. Swear Jar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queens and Roy debate what constitutes a swear word and what does not. Apparently, Oliver's babies know best.   
> "Sthwear jar, Daddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friend-a-loos, how are you?! Hope you enjoy this really random and short chapter with even random-er halloween details. Please Review!! Love you all!

 

_“DAD-DY!”_

“Ooff,” Oliver lets out a grunt as his youngest child slams into his legs, propelling him backwards and into the wall.

“Dammit Roy, when they say trick or treat, you give them a treat, not a damn heart attack!”

Roy is caught up in a chuckle before Thea’s hand swipes the mask off of her boyfriend’s face, adding a sharp whack to his arm when he turns to her and frowns.

“See Tommy? It’s just Uncle Roy,” Oliver says softly to his two-year-old son, crouching down and smoothing back his hair.

“Sth’not Unca Woy,” the small child sniffles, hugging Oliver’s leg like a lifeline, his snotty nose buried into his father’s knee. “It’sth ugly monsther.”

“He _is_ ugly.”

Oliver’s response earns him his own honorary whack from Thea, and it’s only when Felicity comes up behind the father-son duo with a four-year-old pirate princess in tow and a handful of Halloween crafts and decorations that they finally manage to make it through the front door and into Thea’s apartment.

“For the record, I am not ugly.”

“For the record, I do not give a shit.”

“Sthwear jar, daddy.”

Oliver’s lips tighten into an amused frown as he turns in the direction of the two small voices. He raises an eyebrow at his kids’ expectant smiles, slowly pulling out his wallet, and fishes out a dollar before snapping the leather casing shut.

“Nuh-uh, Daddy, we both said it. That means times two.”

“Baby, that’s not how it works.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh – dammit,” Oliver snaps his mouth shut, tilting his head sideways at his grinning daughter. While it’s hard enough to win an argument now over which Frozen character is the best (Oliver insists it’s Pabbie, Anya swears by light itself that it’s Sven; Felicity thinks they’re both insane because _it’s Olaf you two, are you blind?_ ), he can’t even begin to imagine what she’ll be like as a teenager. He shudders at the thought.

“Ooh, Daddy, you sthaid anotha bad word,” Tommy taunts in his adorable lisp, eyes bright and smile wide.

“Now it’s times 4.”

“Anya, baby, you skipped a number,” Felicity starts.

Oliver’s “That’s not a swear word,” cuts her off.

“Oliver, _yes_ , it is.” She replies sweetly to her husband, pinching his leg and raising her eyebrows.

“No its no-,”

“Dammit. Dam-mit. Dammmmit.”

“Damn damn damn damn damn - ,”

“ _Okay_! Mommy’s right – bad word, it’s a bad word.”

“Nuh-uh, no taksies backsies.”

“Anya, that is still not how that works.”

“Who says so?”

“ _I_ say so.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Anya, I’m your father.”

“And I’m your daughter and Tommy’s your son and Mommy’s your wife and Aunty Thea’s your sister and Uncle Roy likes eating Chinese food.”

“What?”

Oliver stares incredulously at his baby girl, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from smiling as he watches her nod her head in solemn affirmation at her stated points.

 “I thought we were saying things we know.”

“Wow Oliver, she really is your kid.”

“We _know_ that Uncle Roy, I _just_ said that.”

“What are they even arguing about?” Thea asks, gliding back into the room and adjusting the astronaut helmet on Tommy’s head before plopping down on the couch.

“Whether or not d-a-m-m-i-t is a swear word or not,” Felicity says from her spot next to Oliver, her words garbled by the licorice she stuffs in her mouth.

“Oh yeah,” Thea nods along, matter-of-factly. “That is a _very_ bad swear word. One of the _worst._ ”

All the adults nod in unison, eyes trained specifically on Anya. She frowns at them all, her gaze nearly rivaling the glare Oliver normally uses when taking on his green alter-ego, and for a second Oliver’s almost convinced that she’s right and he’s wrong.

Almost.

She huffs defeat before climbing into his lap and stares at her mother with her mouth open. Felicity sticks a piece of licorice between her teeth and Oliver grins sweetly at his daughter, laughing when she heaves out a dramatic sigh before ripping the candy in half and shoving it into his face.

“This daddy is just _unbelievable_ ,” Anya whispers loudly to the room, hand hiding her mouth from Oliver’s line of view and widening her eyes in emphasis of her statement.

Oliver can’t help the bark of laughter that he lets out – Anya had taken to referring to his as “this Daddy” and “that Daddy of mine” and, while her little eye rolls and frowns of annoyance are serious to her, they are the parts of Oliver’s day that make his heart swell to three times its size.

Because where Tommy is Felicity’s mumbling babbles and two left feet and wide-eyed amazement, Anya is all Oliver – right down to her very core.

He squeezes his daughter tightly in his arms, ruffling her small hybrid tiara pirate hat and tickling her sides as he smooshes kisses all over her face.

She’s squealing in laughter, and Oliver’s face is pure light as he motions for his baby boy to join the squirming pile of tickling torment.

Tommy is racing across the room as fast as his toddling legs can carry him, and he’s almost there – he’s _right_ there - before the foot of his oversized astronaut costume catches on the dining table and he falls forward into the carpet.

“ _Fuck_.”

“Tommy _, NO.”_


	5. You Make Me Feel Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted to marry her. She knew it. She didn't know how, but something about his face and eyes changed between breakfast and lunch and Felicity just knew. A.K.A. Felicity's mind can't settle, Oliver knows what he wants. Felicity is god awful at speaking in metaphors, Oliver, thankfully, knows just what to say to shut her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends, hope you enjoy this chapter!! If you like the Tris/Tobias, I also have this under their world on fanfiction under the same account name (imfallingforyoureyes102), so check it out!
> 
> Thank you soooooo much to all of the wonderful comments you have left me, you guys don't know how much they mean to me.
> 
> Please review! And let me know if any of you have any requests! :)))))

He wanted to marry her.

She knew it. She didn't know how, but something about his face and eyes changed between breakfast and lunch, and Felicity just  _knew._

She sighed as she stared blankly at the cars speeding around the streets 40 stories below her, her legs drawn in so tightly to her body that her knuckles were turning white.

She was  _hiding_  – fucking  _hiding_  – from Oliver, and for what? Just because he had  _looked_  at her differently that afternoon?

Oliver stood behind her by the door from the roof to the building, watching her silently, because while she had never voiced any reason of being upset with him, her quiet behavior from earlier in the afternoon seemed to send of warning bells in his head. A quiet Felicity is _never_ a happy Felicity.

She can almost hear those bells chiming in his head, even over the sound of the wind, and she silently berates herself for not choosing to go hide out in Star City’s public library like she normally does when angry with him.

"I'm not right for you, you know." Her voice is small, but it's firm, and she hates that the only time she is able to be confident in herself is when she is doubting everything else.

Oliver's head snaps up, but Felicity stays stone still with her back still facing him. She knows he heard her, and he knows that too, but he can't help but stumble out a startled "what" before composing himself.

"I'm not right for you."

Felicity struggles to put it into words – to tell Oliver that there was no reasonable explanation that someone like  _him_  – someone so  _beautiful_  and  _powerful_  and  _gentle_  and  _sweet_  – should be stuck with someone like her. She tries to tell him that there's a hole in her chest – a gaping hole much larger than the chasm that's eating her from the inside out because she's scared that one day Oliver is going to wake up and "smell the fucking roses" and realize that the Felicity he fell in love with was nothing more than a silly little fling.

Oliver is angry with her – offended even – and doesn't even say anything to her for what seems like hours, his arms folded tightly across his broad chest and his gaze fastened hard and fast on the falling sun ahead.

Felicity takes this silence as agreement, though, because while the two of them both know, deep down, just how stupid she was being, Felicity was also still occasionally swirling around in the mindset of insecurity and inability to see that in the moment.

She tries a different approach – one with metaphors and similes – because she knows that Oliver actually really loves literature (she found a small case of worn out books in the corner of Oliver's childhood bedroom and had smiled at every dog eared page), but she also knows that she's shit at these things so it comes out incredibly so odd and funky that it snaps Oliver out of his stare.

"You make me feel yellow."

"I make you feel  _yellow_?"

"Yeah."

"Is that a good thing, or? – ,"

"Of course it's a good thing. You make me feel yellow. You make me feel all full and happy, like, you know, sunshine and daisies - ,"

Oliver slowly lowers himself down next to Felicity, making sure that his left arm brushes right up against her right. Felicity may have felt emotionally distressed at the moment, but Oliver's physical reminder of who they are to each other almost makes her snap out of her haze –  _almost_.

"Look, what I'm trying to say is that you make me feel all these things – these incredibly, amazing things that I can't explain." Felicity voice trembles a little, because she doesn't exactly know why she's trying to push Oliver away, but she continues on anyway, stubborn and persistent as always.

"You're just so – so  _passionate_  about what you do, and you're strong and handsome and you're voice is very - ," Felicity clears her throat as a blush spreads down her neck, "you know,  _sexy_. And you're powerful and confident but gentle and sweet and I know you've had a pretty fucked up life – an extremely fucked up life – and mine isn't even comparable to yours, but I'm seeing a therapist - ,"

Oliver's eyes widen slightly because  _that_  was news to him. Felicity loved to talk, but feelings were something that the both of them often kept squashed in the dark, so therapy was yet another facet to the diamond that was Felicity.

"And she seems to think that I'm emotionally unavailable which, personally, I don't think I am. I mean, if  _I'm_  emotionally unavailable, then you must be, like, a rock or something – but, that's not the point."

Felicity takes a deep breath in, and Oliver feels like he needs to too, because the speed at which Felicity is talking is making his head spin in circles.

"The point is you're like this whole package wrapped up with a shiny bow and I'm – I'm like a lump of coal that only the naughty kids get at Christmas. And _I’m_ Jewish, so technically, I’m just a piece of rock that people toss into the fire. I’m not even the present the _bad_ kids get.” Felicity’s eyes widen in disgust.

“And you don't deserve that – you don't deserve a lump of coal, Oliver. You deserve candy and presents and the whole fucking cookie jar. You need someone who makes you feel how you make me feel – who makes you feel  _happy_  and  _full_  and  _yellow_ , not some mucky orange or - ," Felicity's face twists in disgust, "or  _beige_."

" _You need someone to make you feel like you make me feel_ ," Felicity repeats firmly, her eyes fixed on the stones in front of her, "and I don't know if I can do that for you because I'm not a yellow person – I'm a-a beige person – a boring, dull,  _beige_  person and - ,"

"Felicity."

Oliver wants to pat himself on the back, because where he wanted to take a staple and snap Felicity's mouth shut, he instead gently places his hands across her frowning lips.

"Felicity, please just – just shut up okay?"

Felicity's eyes widen a little – not because of the brashness of his words - Oliver had always had a tendency to say whatever the hell came to his mind while drunk or agitated (or while fucking) – but because of the way his eyes seem to say so much more than just " _listen_."

" _I want to marry you."_

A small whimper of protest slips past Felicity's lips and Oliver swipes his thumb firmly over her mouth as he leans in closer.

"I want to marry you – I want to put a ring on your finger and make you mine. I want to stand at the alter and kiss you under an arch and promise to love you forever in front of everyone we know."

The wind around them seems to quiet as Oliver's words pick up in intensity, and while Oliver didn't like talking emotion either, he needed Felicity to hear this.

She can see the tiny dots that are people moving around in the city below where she sits, and it's then she realizes that she has been looking around at everything but Oliver.

Her eyes snap back to him, and Oliver's eyes darken as he tugs on Felicity's lower lip, his voice lowering to a husky whisper.

"I want to fuck you every day and every night until you can't speak – I want everyone to smell me on you so that they know that you are  _mine_. I want to make you come  _over_  and  _over_  and  _over_  again so that the  _only_  thing you'll know how to say is my name."

Felicity's breath is coming quickly now, and she knows that he knows that she's thinking of this morning, when Oliver had her pressed up against the bathroom countertop shaking and trembling around him far past the time they were supposed to be in the office. She thinks he's about to lean in for a kiss, but he pulls away at the last second, his hand straying away from her mouth to tenderly caress her face.

"I want to wake up next to you," his voice is soft now, almost scared, like a child confessing his darkest fear, and Felicity thinks she's about to get whiplash from how quickly Oliver went from dominating to domestic. "I want to watch you brush your hair and nerd out over your computer systems and spend three hours deciding between light pink or dark pink shades of lipsticks only go with the same shade you’ve been buying for years. You're not perfect Felicity," – Oliver lets out a small laugh as Felicity narrows her eyes at him, "God you're not perfect by any standards. You leave the bathroom light on, and you hate cleaning, and you never seem to understand that alarms are  _supposed_  to wake you up and aren't meant to be thrown across rooms."

Felicity lets out a small huff, but she can't help the small tears forming in her eyes because when she had sat Oliver down ready to give him her little speech about her being so incredibly wrong for him, a small part of herself had convinced her brain that Oliver would actually agree with her, and that scared the hell out of her. But this – Oliver's firm grip on her face and his eyes already darkening to that black that Felicity only ever sees when Oliver is serious – this insistence of his love scares her far more in all the right ways.

"And don't even get me started on your obsession with only eating those sugar filled death sentences," Oliver chuckles, referring to the small stash of twinkies he had found under the sink in the kitchen, duct taped to the cupboard wall.

"You're not perfect, Felicity, but you're so fucking imperfectly perfect that somewhere that all seems cancel out and I'm left with  _you_. I don't fucking _just_ want yellow, Felicity – I don't want sunshine and daisies and birds chirping which frankly, is everything that you are - ," Oliver shakes his head, "but that's not the point either. I want  _you_ , Felicity. I want your stubborn, mouthy, quirky, imperfect, smart ass. I want you to punch me in your sleep and mutter whatever the fuck you mutter when you're thinking. I want to watch you paint your toenails and trip over your pairs of shoes and listen to you spew out weird facts about kangaroos and Roman archeology - ,"

Oliver knows she gets the point by now, but it feels like a dam has broken inside his chest and he wants –  _needs_  – to let her know that he finally,  _finally_  has found something in this world that makes him feel fucking yellow, and while he knows good things never seem to last for him, this is one moment he'll make damn sure he won't fuck up.

His thumb brushes away the small tear that has strayed down Felicity's face, and he gives her a small smile as his voice softens.

"I want to make love to you, and tell you you're beautiful, and cherish you every day. I want to have babies with you and start a family, and be a father – a  _good_  father - ," Oliver swallows hard, and now it's Felicity's turn to wipe away the tear falling down Oliver's face. Oliver's casts his gaze down as he continues, his voice growing raspy with emotion and Felicity takes his hands in hers.

"I want to hold your hair back when you have morning sickness and I want feel 'em kick for the first time. I want to argue over baby names and what color to paint the walls, and go the store at some ungodly hour to get you some ungodly craving. I want you to curse and scream at me when they're born -,"

Felicity smiles at the word "they're." At least they both agreed that a big family was something they wanted.

"I want a son with your smile, and a little girl with your eyes. I want to watch them grow and teach them how to walk and read and I want to build a family with you, Felicity. I want to build a  _life_ and grow old with you and I want to love you  _every_   _single_   _day_  of forever if you let me.

I want  _so_  much, Felicity, so fucking much – but only if it's with you. Because being you –  _loving_  you – that's what makes  _me_  feel yellow.

"Okay."

"So  _please_ , Felicity, just – just marry me."

"Okay."

"Marry me and I – , wait, what?"

"I said okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay as in yes you'll marry me or Okay as in - ,"

Felicity takes her turn to slap her hand over Oliver's mouth, laughter reaching her eyes in full. Nothing can keep Oliver's mouth shut though, because his smile is far too bright for any dimming.

"So," Felicity begins, her eyes flashing down briefly before snapping back to his own, "What was this about fucking me every day and night - ,"

Oliver can't help it now, and he lets out the bubble of laughter in his chest that had been swirling with ecstasy and love and happiness for the woman with the lopsided grin in front of him. He pulls Felicity flush against him – _his_ Felicity - as her lips find his, and for a second they are both teenagers sharing their first kiss against the red stained sky without the weight of the city on their shoulders.

They pause to take a breath as they rest their foreheads against each other, Felicity's thumb pulling softly at Oliver's lower lip, and Oliver only gets a glimpse at her eyes before she pulls him in for another kiss – a less innocent one, this time.

Oliver pulls her into his lap and leans back against the stone of the small ledge they sit propped on, both staring out at the setting sun with smiles bright enough to light up the world. He presses his lips to her hair as his arms wrap tightly around her body, grinning quietly when her lips start trailing along his jaw, and he can't help but think about how fucking incredible the color yellow suddenly seemed to be.


	6. Coffee Cups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU/OC chapter in which Oliver and Felicity meet in a coffee shop. Oliver is still a vigilante and spent five years on the island. Felicity is a senior at MIT and a very witty barista with a bit of a potty mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola my dudes, here's a one-shot (I think) for you. It's a little AU (what with QC and MIT not being in the same area in reality, but in here being in the same place) and a bit OC for Oliver - he's a bit more emotionally shaken by his time on Lian Yu. Anyway, please review and enjoy!!

He never thought he had a type – and he didn't. He didn't prefer blonde hair over red hair, he didn't like petite over average, hell, he had no intention whatsoever to scout out every blue eyed girl in the country over the others.

But he liked  _her_  blonde hair, and  _her_  small frame, and he definitely had a thing for the way her blue eyes flashed grey behind the frames of her glasses every time he approached her at the cash register, rattling off a load of nonsense to whomever was on the phone with him this time, paying little to no attention to the way she would throw him a glare as he ordered and paid without a breath in between.

Yeah, he didn't have a type, but he definitely had a crush.

And it's silly, he thinks, to have something as juvenile as a crush on a girl who could care less about him, but it's still something he can't help every day, when he sees the top of her uniform cap moving around the counter.

He can't help but avoid her glance every time she takes his order – can't help the way he talks in short, clipped sentences and waves off her recited offer of a "would you like a scone with that?" It's enough to agitate anyone, but the girl – Felicity, he learns from the small nametag – takes it in stride without even batting an eyelash.

She can't help the way her pink stained lips pull into a small scowl every time she sees the top of his dark hair and brooding face standing amidst the crowed of the morning workers in need of their coffee. It's a bit unfair, she thinks, that he can see so easily over the tops of everyone's head while she could stand on a stool and still have luck worth shit. She knows she shouldn't be so agitated over his lack of conversational skills – nearly everyone in the damn café couldn't spend two seconds off the phone let alone give her a friendly hello. Something about him though – maybe the sharp jawline or the eyes she couldn't quite place between blue or black – screams confidence and arrogance – the kind of confidence she stayed away from in high school because it was followed along by snarky popularity and hatred filled comments. It's not that she knows he's a jerk, she just thinks he is, and she makes it known every time she writes a different name on his cup everyday just to spite him. She doesn't think he ever notices though, but she continues to do so nonetheless.

He notices. He always does. And despite whatever feeling Felicity wants him to feel when he sees the messy "Douchedick" or "Crumbum" scrawled across the cup, he only feels a smile flash across face when he takes a sip under the summer sun.

As much as he hates his job – as much as he hates the fact that the CEO position of his family company was shoved into his lap only weeks after returning from the island -– he can't help but smile every time he walks into his office, because what greets him there is always much more pleasant that what lies in the deep dark niches of his mind. Oliver knows that Dig thinks he's crazy to keep every coffee cup that Felicity has written on set up along the shelves of his office like trophies, but he does it anyway because the amount of wit in each insulting name has only grown in intensity, and it make Oliver somewhat proud.

He never talks to her – he doesn't have the nerve – but eventually the rude business calls he uses as an excuse not to talk to her are held until after their encounters, and he sure as hell loves the blush that creeps across her cheeks the first time she realizes he's actually paying attention to her writing on the cup. She bites her lip then, slowly and casually setting the cup down and reaching for another.

"Keep it. It fits."

It's the first words Oliver ever really speaks to her, besides his normal order, and though she knew his voice was deep, she can't help shivering when she hears it. She stares hesitantly between him and the cup with the elegant "Ass Face" scrawled across it and Oliver holds back a smile – a real one – as she hands him the drink.

"It's Oliver, by the way. For next time."

**#**

The cups aren't quite that interesting after that – and Oliver is a little relieved. He had no clue where he would start placing the cups after the last shelf was filled and didn't have it in him to throw any away just yet.

Oliver is still too much of a coward to talk up a storm with her, but it's enough of a change to actually know his name that makes Felicity a little warmer towards him. Yeah, she still thinks he's a little too full of himself, but the banter that the two pick up in replacement of the cups is enough to quell the animosity.

He thinks it's fair to call her names now that she's had her fill. She thinks it's unfair that he uses her height as a basis for all of his jokes.

He always likes to tell her how much his day improves just seeing her face even if he has to stoop down three feet to find it – how much her "beautiful frown" is brighter than the sun. She can't wipe the frown off of her face when he doesn't show up one day.

She knows it's ridiculous – he's just a customer and she's a sleep deprived college student looking to make a few extra bucks with this barista job. But it still stings a bit to think about him flirting with another girl in some other coffee shop a few doors down.

By the third day, Felicity is pissed – both at herself for thinking he could be something to her and at  _him_  (and yes, he had fallen back down the ladder to insults again) – too pissed to see that he's standing in front of her again, but in a hoodie and sweats and a whole lot of black and blue on his face from his nighttime excursions.

She's surprised when she hears him, and even more so when she sees him, and soon enough hot coffee is on the both of them and Oliver can't help but crack a smile even though the movements in his face stings at his eyes.

She's too shocked to say anything and her eyes are wide and grey as they stare at him. And, because he often connects quietness with anger due to his time on the island, his smile falters as he begins to mutter apology after apology. It's Oliver's move to leave that pulls Felicity out of her frozen state, and because Oliver is suddenly so wrapped up in thought about all the violence and torture he’d been dragged through in his time away, he doesn't realize it's a small and delicate hand reaching for him rather than a tough one gripping a serrated knife and the small flinch that overcomes him makes Felicity's heart crack right down the middle.

It should be awkward because they really don't know each other  _that_  well and the only conversations they'd ever really exchanged were sarcastic and witty ones – the kind that skip over the dark sides of anything. But that doesn't stop Felicity from taking her break a full three hours early and pulling Oliver into a quiet booth – doesn't stop her from placing a fresh, hot cup of coffee in front of him with the words "Punching Bag" written lightly across the front.

It's then the two really start to talk – then when Oliver finally admits, at least to himself, that this thing he feels for her is far more than a crush. It's also then when Felicity realizes that  _she'd_  been the jerk the whole time.

They talk for a good two hours, and Felicity would have been fired if it weren't for her friend Phoebe who somehow had managed to keep the entire shop at bay while still flashing thumbs up over at Felicity every ten minutes or so.

He learns that she's a computer genius –  senior at MIT (top of her class, of course) – and that she has a thing for birds and a unparalleled fear of kangaroos. She learns that he hates storms and small spaces, and almost peed on a cop car in his not so glorious youth before his friend stepped in.

She realizes his eyes are actually blue – so blue they suck out her breath whenever he looks at her. He realizes her hair isn't actually naturally blonde, and that she’ll incarcerate him if he tells anyone, and that her small stature is deceiving of her strength. He likes her eyes the most, and the way her glasses steam up every time she takes a sip of coffee, but he can't help from glancing down at her lips every couple of seconds because the way they get all red when she bites them is enough to drive any sane person wild.

Felicity smirks a little when she realizes this – her mouth widening in a smile when she sees that he has begun mimicking her; his bottom lip is trapped between his teeth and she finally understands why people think the act is so endearing.

Oliver skips over the reason as to why his face is filled with bruises and scratches. Felicity respects that, but her insides twist with anger whenever his fingers reach up to brush at one of them. Felicity talks about her mother and her worldwind of crazy and compassion; Oliver talks about his baby sister – about how he used to bake cookies and do arts and crafts with her and was there for the very first time she zoomed off on her bicycle.

They both stop talking then – coffee cups empty and hearts full – and Oliver realizes that this is what contentment feels like. He’s not good with emotions, though, he never was, and he doesn’t know if she feels the same way. He’s scared that the way he pulls back and clears his throat will drive Felicity away. But his actions do nothing to stop her from slipping her phone number across the table to him as she gets up to go back to work, or him from calling her one night when he finds a bird nest outside his window and can't help but think of her.

She's there faster than she would like to admit, and it's a beaming Oliver that answers the door. The bruises are gone, but it's still an untouched topic that's been lingering around them for some time. Oliver’s not ready to wrap Felicity up in the danger that comes with his hooded alter ego; Felicity’s a bit smarter than Oliver gives her credit for, and the way her eyes brush over the callouses on his hand formed by his time running around with his bow only adds another piece to her little mystery puzzle.

She knows he’ll tell her whatever he wants to when he’s ready, though. And after a few drinks and watching the bird's nest, it's Oliver and Felicity sat on the couch in the abnormally clean and organized room in a tangle of limbs as Felicity tries to wrestle the remote out of Oliver's hands – apparently having to watch another minute of "Kangaroo Jack." is "not at all helping me get over my fear, Oliver, thank you very much."

Felicity doesn't understand how she ends up on his lap, nor how the remote ends up on the floor. Oliver does, but he's not exactly one to complain about the glorious things in life, and he holds her gently as her giggling subsides and she tries to look anywhere but him. He, above anyone, understands the need for boundaries and sits quiet and still, letting Felicity make all the choices.

Her eyes reach his, and all she can see is her reflection in his now black eyes – her eyes are ice blue, and Oliver thinks he can just stare at them all day and just be fine with that.

But when her lips meet his, soft and tentative, it's all he can do to not pull her face tight to his. And he's glad he doesn't, because within seconds it's her delicate hands curling around his neck and into his hair and his own running up and down her back and brushing against her jaw. He's just as new to this kind of delicate love as she is, but Felicity doesn't know that, and something along the feelings of inadequacy causes her to break the kiss.

She's panting hard and he's still got his eyes closed and all she can see are his slightly swollen lips and the flush now running up his cheeks and she can't help but smile a little to herself when he lets out a small groan in protest. Her thumb runs against his lips as a small "I've never done that before" leaves her lips and her eyes widen as she realizes how pathetic she probably sounds.

 Oliver's eyes flash open as he feels her head drop into his chest and he has to pry her face back up to meet his. His soft "This is all new to me too," is said with a small laugh and even though Felicity is certain that someone as good looking as him has had his fair share of one-night stands, something about the way his hands stay gentle on her hips and the way he doesn't look anywhere but her eyes makes her believe that whatever is happening between the two of them is far past unchartered territory.

They don't do anything but kiss until Oliver has to physically remove Felicity from his lap because of certain matters and Felicity laughingly suggests a walk for him to "cool off." It takes them both a few seconds to find something fit to wear for the night because where Felicity first arrived with only a chilly wind biting at her back, the first snow of the year is just starting in Starling City.

Oliver thinks Felicity looks ravishing in one of his old sweatshirt – he knows it's primal and caveman-y to think his clothing engulfing Felicity's small frame is so attractive but, then again, he never got to experience this kind of wonder in any relationship he’d ever been in and he definitely isn’t going to give up the chance now.

They walk past the coffee shop – it's closed now – and Felicity pulls him by the arm and asks him where he works. There's a small falter of a smile before Oliver points shyly ahead up the avenue and straight at the gigantic building towering over the rest of the buildings, the name "Queen Consolidated" set boldly into the stone. Felicity stops walking instantly as she connects the Queen on the building and the Queen grasping her hand with each other and finally –  _finally_  all the pompous calls and mutterings about this and that in the coffee line all make sense now. It’s then, right in the middle of the street, that she learns about the island, and there’s something stirring in Oliver when she admits that she had no idea who he was – no idea that he had been the famed survivor rescued from the North China Sea.

But, since his name is plastered on the building, Felicity thinks it's a reasonable request to see exactly where he works. After all, he must have the key to his own kingdom.

It isn't until he's turning the doorknob to his office that he remembers his little hoarding problem, but it's already a little too late because the key fits and the door is unlocked. He tries to stall Felicity, asking her if she wants any coffee or orange juice – "I'm sure there's some muffins in the kitchen," – but Felicity just rolls her eyes and strolls right past him as Oliver stands stone still and waits for a reaction.

He doesn't hear one, and he's a bit worried when he walks in. The worry leaves him though, almost instantly, when he finds Felicity on the ground shaking so hard with laughter that he is actually concerned about her hitting her head. She doesn't talk for a couple of minutes – can't really, through the snorts and giggles – and when she finally does her face is flushed with laughter and Oliver's with embarrassment.

It fades to a slight fondness, though, as Felicity goes around the room, reading each cup.

"I remember this one," she says staring at Oliver's favorite and most obscene cup. "You were being a complete dickwad that day."

"I was on the phone," Oliver tries to counter, but he remembers specifically that he had been trying to spite her, talking about how slow the service was and how disgusting the coffee usually tasted and asking the person on the phone (there really never was one that day) why he even kept going there.

"I was trying to hint that I only came there for you," he laughs at her scowl.

"Yeah, you were great at showing it."

**#**

It's almost Thanksgiving when Oliver enters the coffee shop for his usual fix and sees Phoebe behind the counter. He's about to cut everyone in line just to find out where Felicity was – she was always there – when he feels someone knock into his side.

It's Felicity, and she's mumbling apologies over and over before she realizes it's him and Oliver frowns at the way her eyes and nose are red and the way her voice sounds raspy. He doesn't hesitate in pulling her into a hug after his "what's wrong" causes Felicity's eyes to water up again – doesn't hesitate in pulling her over to the same quiet booth like she once did with him and grabbing a cup of coffee from Phoebe. He places it down in front of her gently, and she snorts when she sees the words "Cry Baby" scrawled across the front.

It's then he learns about Felicity’s crime lord father – then he learns that the man she had been hoping would finally come back into her life had done just that, but with an ulterior, money motivated motive.

It's also then that he realizes he loves her – right there, in the little booth by the window, with her red, splotchy face and red rimmed eyes.

**#**

Felicity falls in love with him a few weeks before Christmas as they walk past the park. A small soccer ball had made its way into their path and somehow the two of them had found themselves wrapped up in a soccer match with a bunch of eight year olds. It's when one of the boys falls down and scrapes his knee that Felicity knows it, because the way Oliver scoops him up and makes him laugh and laugh and laugh before his mother cleans him up shows just how selfless and kind he was, even when he didn't think so himself.

Unlike Oliver, she's always had a better way with words, and when he walks into the coffee shop Monday morning, he's almost too happy that Felicity had greeted him at the door to look down at the cup she was pressing into his hands. The way she kept biting her lips and glancing down at it, though, made Oliver do the same, and the words scrawled across the side were by far the best she had ever come up with.

"I love you."

Within seconds, he can feel his heart slamming in his chest, and he knows he must really look pathetic with his wet eyes and choked up voice as he tells her he loves her too, but the last time someone had told him that they loved him – that he was loved – was over five years ago and had made him run for the hills.

Oliver doesn't go into work that day – the last thing he wants is to go to the place that he felt most uneasy after coming back from the island– and he sits around in the small café until Felicity finishes her shift. She has twenty minutes before class, but neither could care less and they spent the twenty minutes walking around in the on and off snow, pointing out the few birds that had decided to stick it out for the winter.

**#**

They’re in the middle of a snow storm when Felicity finds out Oliver is The Hood. She’s had her hunches for a while, and she knows that he knows that she knows exactly who he is, but they’ve kept up the innocent game of cluelessness for the past month instead of addressing the very green elephant in the room.

Felicity doesn’t want to push him – doesn’t want make him tell her something if he wasn’t ready to. She knows how that feels, especially from her first few years of college and bad boyfriend choices – so when he walks in one day past midnight with blood seeping through his t-shirt, all she does his settle him down in the kitchen stool and press a kiss to his forehead.

Oliver’s eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are tight – with worry or with pain, Felicity doesn’t know. He’s fumbling for words and trying to get Felicity to stand still so he can _finally_ tell her, but all she does is brush her lips against his and whispers a soft _I know._

The next time Felicity has to stitch up Oliver from patrol it’s because he had been laughing so hard at something Felicity had said through the coms from her position as Overwatch that he had missed the last step on the way out of the Foundry.

**#**

By the time Felicity's exams rolls around in the spring – her graduation looming around the corner – Oliver has spent more hours cooped up in the office and Felicity has quit her job in the coffee shop. She needed more time to study, and he needed more time in the office to pacify his mother, and by the time either got to see each other at the end of the day, both were so exhausted all they could do was fall asleep tangled up in each other's arms.

It's for that reason that they are a bit confused when they both get home at a sane hour – Felicity from the library, Oliver from the office – and both a bit at a loss at what to do with their free time. It's a split second of confusion, though, because in the next second Felicity is pressed up against the wall with Oliver's hands gripping at her hips and for a few minutes neither of them dares to breathe as he kisses every inch of skin he can reach. They've done enough of this to know when to stop before it goes too far, but for some reason Felicity can't stop grabbing at Oliver's hair and doesn't protest one bit when he picks her up and presses her further into the wall, her legs wrapping around his strong torso. And Oliver can't help but groan – when she whimpers like that – as he rolls his hips against hers. He can't help but feel a bit lightheaded when she grabs at his belt buckle and looks up at him through her eyelashes.

Oliver has always been the one to move too fast and then jump ship, but Felicity’s different and _by God_ he couldn’t mess this one up – he wouldn’t. So they’d been taking it slow, taking it at Felicity’s pace, and where he would have loved to throw her down on his bed and explore every inch of her the first time they kissed, he loved each fleeting touch and innocent whisper that had filled its place.

He carries her, then, to his room – their room, really. Oliver doesn't know the last time she'd been in her dorm, and he could care less because right now, all he could think about was the girl beneath him. He continues to kiss her – hesitantly now, because they have never gone this far – and she encourages him along with every small whimper and breathless whisper.

He stops when he reaches her face, and her eyes flash open. She's always been self-conscious about her body – about her chest and her size – but where she's always seen imperfection, he's seen beauty beyond anything.

Oliver is panting and Felicity's chest is heaving, and when her fingers claw at his belt buckle once again he doesn't ignore it.

"Felicity, are you sure - ,"

He laughs as his question is cut off by Felicity's lips.

**#**

Oliver's hands can't stop shaking, and he's a little worried at the fact that  _he_  was more panicked than Felicity at her own graduation. She thinks it's funny, that he can't stop fidgeting. He thinks she has the easy part in the day's activities – he was the one who had to meet her parents.

True to Felicity's word, they arrive a bit late – late enough, in fact, for Felicity to already be seated and for him to have to meet them alone. He would berate Felicity for this, but for some odd reason, he has a feeling that she did this on purpose – probably to get back at him for all the comments about her height he had first made.

He speaks to her father first, and because somehow he isn’t in jail and because somehow he’d made a recent effort to be more involved in Felicity’s life since the last time he tried to extort money from her, Oliver puts on his best smile. He’s still growling on the inside because of all the tears he has seen Felicity shed over the man, but it’s her big day and he’s just sane enough to let it slide for the time being.

Her cousins are a whole world of their own, smiling flirtatiously at him and raking his body head to toe, but it’s Donna Smoak that pulls a big smile from Oliver Queen and squeezes him tight with her enthusiastic hug.

He’s heard a million stories of Donna and Felicity and their outrages adventures when Felicity was growing up, and while real life revealed that Donna was just as eccentric in reality as in story, Oliver can’t help but find the similarities between mother and daughter.

They both had wonder in their eyes and compassion in their smile, and while Oliver loved his mother to the moon and back, there was just something so warm and motherly about Donna that it made him so happy to know that she was Felicity’s mom.

His nerves are gone as he chats openly with the older blonde, but he can’t form word when he sees her striding across the stage, and he can't help the widest smile he's ever smiled that spreads across his face as he watches Felicity accept her diploma – can't help calling out when everyone applauds. It's a good think he doesn't see Felicity's parents watching their interaction with a similar smile, or he would have been redder than Felicity when she found out Oliver had a thing for her.

After the ceremony, they all grab a cup of coffee – Oliver and Felicity trying their best not to crack up when, for the first time in a long time, their actual names appeared on the cups.

**#**

It's Christmastime again, and Oliver finally gets to see where Felicity grew up – where she really grew up. He knew that she had initially moved around a lot, but this is the home that had held her birthday parties and bat mitzvah; that had housed countless sleepovers and Smoak Thanksgivings. He's never really talked about his homelife before the island willingly – the only time they ever really talk about it is when he wakes up in the middle of the night panting and sweating with flashes of images of his father with a gun to his head playing back in his mind and he longs for any semblance of normalcy. Felicity doesn't mind. She knows he'll tell her when he's ready. Oliver is grateful for that, because sometimes he doesn't think he'll ever be ready.

He's seated in the living room, and Oliver has a smile on his face as he watches Felicity's little cousin pin ornaments on the Christmas tree. His smile grows even wider when she – Becca – comes up to him and asks him to play. Felicity was in the kitchen with her father and cousin, Susan and Felicity's mother was sat on the other couch watching the two race small cars up and down the floor.

It's only when Becca falls asleep halfway through one of their races that Oliver looks up and sees her watching them – only then when he realizes why he had been feeling so nervous in the first place.

He picks Felicity's little cousin up and sets her on the couch, covering her with the nearest blanket before turning to Felicity's mother

"Mam - ,"

"Donna. I told you to call me Donna, Oliver."

"Donna, I, uh, I wanted to ask you something. Something important."

Felicity walks in the room then, and Oliver almost swears in surprise because Felicity has always had impeccable timing.

"Dinner's ready."

She stands there, smiling, waiting for the two to get up, and Oliver knows it's a lost cause to try anything now.

Felicity turns to leave, and Oliver watches Donna scoop her niece up.

"Oliver?"

"Hhmm."

"Yes. You have my permission. Yes."

**#**

It takes a lot of convincing to get Felicity to go on a walk after dinner – she's full, he's full, and the snow outside just wasn't as endearing as the fireplace in the living room. But when Oliver mentions coffee she throws out a "why the hell not," and they both find that their "walk" is actually a sprint to the café because of the blizzard like snow swirling around them.

Oliver keeps his left hand in his pocket, scared that if he didn't he'd ruin everything, and Felicity is almost bouncing up and down in excitement when she realizes that they had peppermint flavored everything. They grab a drink for everyone because, as Felicity had so eloquently repeated, "why the hell not," and the walk back is much easier now that the snowflakes had reduced quite considerably from the ping pong sized balls to small wisps.

They're soon all seated in the living room watching a Christmas movie– Felicity’s cousin, husband, and Becca taking up one couch, Felicity's parents on the other. Oliver doesn't mind that they've been given the floor, because here he has enough room to pull Felicity close enough so that her back is against his chest as he sits propped against the couch.

His arms are encircled around her waist, his chin propped on her head, and he pays more attention to playing with her finger that he does the movie.

She's just finishing her coffee as she looks down, watching Oliver's fingers intertwine with hers. It must be the flicker from the screen, or the way the light shifts, because all of a sudden she's all too aware of what's written on her cup – all too aware of what his fingers are doing.

And, as much as she prides herself for being fairly composed, she can't help but start crying  _at_   _least a little._

Because, as she had twisted the cup to see the writing, Oliver had slipped a ring on her left hand.

"I know this is probably the most cliché way to do this," she could feel him whispering in her ear as she tried not to fully burst into tears. "But it was you who started it."

Oliver can't get out one-tenth of his speech before Felicity is turned around and kissing him – probably way harder than she should have been with her parents right behind them. But he doesn't care, because all he can hear is her mumbled yes over and over again.

Everyone in the room had lost interest in the movie, and it wasn't until the two had stopped kissing that Felicity picked up the empty coffee cup and brushed her thumb over the writing scrawled across it.

" _Marry me,"_ it said.

Felicity reached across to the coffee table and snatched the pen on it before grabbing Oliver's own cup.

"I just figured that since I started it," Felicity whispers into Oliver ear, "I should end it,"

Oliver can't help but let out a laugh as he glances down at the coffee cup.

" _Yes."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please review!!

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know – I have this with Tris and Tobias too, but I feel like it can fit so well with each pair, so. Please Review!!! Love you all!


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